


far past the frozen leaves and the haunted, frightened trees

by janie_tangerine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, On the Run, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Poor Theon, SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST S6 TRAILER GUYS I WARNED YOU, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Spoilers, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Wish Fulfillment, also i was doing style experiments here i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You have to run.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You stand up, trying not to shiver as wind hits your back - gods, these damp clothes won’t help, and they were ruined in the first place. You turn and you see Sansa standing up, too. She’s not shivering openly - good, at least one of you isn’t - she’s breathing in, fast, and then she looks at you and takes a few steps.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Theon -” she starts. You don’t let her speak.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Later,” you say, and your voice sounds barely audible to your own ears. “We need to leave.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She nods and doesn’t flinch when you grab her arm</i>
</p><p><i>(</i>not this time<i>)</i></p><p> <i>and when you run, she follows.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	far past the frozen leaves and the haunted, frightened trees

**Author's Note:**

> So when the first S6 trailer came out an anon asked me if I was willing to fic it. I wasn't planning on doing show fic at any point soon but I figured hey why not I can use it to actually write what I'd sorely like to happen in the premiere, so here we go? ;)
> 
> Also I have no clue why whenever I write show fic I decide that it's a good excuse for writing experimentations (because this is one) but it happened sooo. Anyway, nothing at all belongs to me except the speculation and for once I really hope it doesn't end up making more sense than d&d's, the title is from Bob Dylan and this has spoilers _just for the first trailer_ , I haven't watched anything else and I avoided every cast interview or clip to avoid further spoilers so expect stuff based just on that.

You see the ground coming closer and closer and closer as you fall, Sansa’s hand clutching yours

( _she wouldn’t even touch you at the wedding_ )

and you think, _it’s too far. It’s too far, we’re going to die_. Instead you land into soft snow and there’s enough of it that it surrounds you almost completely, and the impact is hard enough that you lose her hand when you hit the ground, but -

but then you breathe in and the air is cold and the snow is making your clothes damp, but you’re alive. You’re alive and nothing feels broken, the cold feels barely dully in comparison to _everything_  you’ve been through -

and then you remember, _soldiers were coming_. Soldiers were coming and you don’t even know what part of yourself made you think _no, it’s enough, it’s too much_  and made you act and grab Sansa’s hand and leave

( _maybe it was the part that had been inconsolable since you learned that Robb died_ )

but you’re not safe. Not yet. Not ever if they catch you.

You don’t know when the prospect of Ramsay’s soldiers (or Ramsay himself, gods) _catching you_  has become so abhorrent that you feel like you could vomit, but it’s not the time to think about it.

You have to run.

You stand up, trying not to shiver as wind hits your back - gods, these damp clothes won’t help, and they were ruined in the first place. You turn and you see Sansa standing up, too. She’s not shivering openly - good, at least one of you isn’t - she’s breathing in, fast, and then she looks at you and takes a few steps.

“Theon -” she starts. You don’t let her speak.

“Later,” you say, and your voice sounds barely audible to your own ears. “We need to leave.”

She nods and doesn’t flinch when you grab her arm

( _not this time_ )

and when you run, she follows.

Good.

Admittedly, you have no clue about your surroundings - everything is covered in snow, and Sansa doesn’t seem to have an idea either, so you just - go where it seems like there’s no one else.

 _Gods_ , you think, _if we run into Bolton soldiers we’re dead. No, not dead. Worse_.

A tiny part of you is saying, _what have you done, you should have stayed put, what did you think you were going to accomplish, you should have just stayed Reek and you’d have lived_ , and maybe it’s making very good points, maybe not, but in between what you were hearing and in between that part of you that had been thinking _Robb would have never wanted you to let this happen_  since Sansa came back to Winterfell - you had to.

Well, you’ll think about it later. If you two somehow find shelter. Maybe there’s a nearby village where people would hide Ned Stark’s daughter, or maybe some retreating Baratheon troops might.

 _If_  you find any. Otherwise who knows if you will even survive the cold. On top of that your feet have started to _really_  hurt, but -

You’ll think about it later. For now you just run.

Except that you don’t do it for very long, because not much farther there’s a river in front of the two of you and it’s almost all frozen. No one can _run_  on that and neither of you has the right shoes for it. You swallow.

“We have to,” you say. You don’t know if she heard you, it still comes out low and your throat hurts for even just speaking.

“We do,” she agrees, not looking as if she’s relishing the thought. But then she nods once, breathes in and starts walking forward. You do, too.

You have to go slowly. The ice cracks just a tiny bit when Sansa stands up fully on it, but it doesn’t break. She takes a few steps and you let her go first - being near each other would make the ice collapse and neither of you can afford to fall right into icy water. When she’s far enough, you follow. The ice does not crack any further when you move, though. You don’t stop to think about what it might mean

( _you’re lighter than she is when four years ago you could have lifted her up easily and now maybe the reverse would be easier gods what has he done to you four years ago you could have never walked on such thin ice without it breaking down_ )

and you take her hand when she offers it to you as you reach the other side.

You both stand again, looking at each other. Her cheeks are red with cold. _What if she gets frostbite, what if we do_.

You’re about to ask her if she can at least guess where you ended up.

Too bad that you hear _noises_  coming from your right. Horses. Definitely weapons.

 _Gods, no_.

Sansa looks panicked as she looks at your left. You nod and you try to run, but both of you have drenched clothes and your feet are _really_  hurting and the riders are on a horse, aren’t they -

You make it as far as a clearing with a few trees. Everything is covered in snow. Some three soldiers come out of the woods a moment later. For a moment you hope it’s Baratheon ones, but no, there’s a flayed man on one of their cloaks and you can see the horses stop and the two of them taking a long, good look at the two of you.

 _No_. Oh gods _no they’re going to bring you back and she might survive enough because Ramsay needs an heir but you’re going to wish you never acted and you’re going to wish it was just what he took from you already because he’s probably going to kill you slowly after flaying every inch of you all over and that’s going to be the least you should have done nothing you shouldn’t have acted_  -

You ask yourself if you could just maybe walk back and throw yourself into the damned river, maybe you’d just die already and put an end to your misery

( _ ~~Robb I’m sorry I ruined everything for you and I can’t even save your sister now~~_ )

but then Sansa screams and you see someone else rushing by and there’s -

there’s someone tall with a blue armor cutting down one of the soldiers that had dismounted, and going for the other while someone else has stabbed the third one’s horse - he falls down from it and the person in the blue armor kills him, too.

They turn towards the two of them.

It’s a woman. A tall, not particularly beautiful blonde woman with huge blue eyes and blood on her blue armor, and you wonder, _would she give me a mercy killing as well_  when you see her come closer.

“Lady Sansa,” she says, sounding astonished. “I hadn’t imagined -”

“Brienne. I lighted the candle,” Sansa says. “But I imagine you had left already.”

Oh, so _she_  was the person who should have come to rescue her.

( _her only, though, she never mentioned helping you get out as well, and you don’t expect it now, but maybe she’ll grant you that small mercy_  -)

“I had. I’m sorry, I -”

“There is no need to explain. I had refused you once. You had no obligation to stay. But - I - _we_  need shelter.”

 _We_?

“You and _him_?” The woman - Brienne - asks. She does sound somehow surprised.

“He helped me escape,” Sansa replies. “Please.”

“Very well,” Brienne replies, and you think _why was it so easy_? “The tower I was staying in. From where I watched the window in Winterfell. It should be safe enough for now. It’s a couple of miles from here, if you can walk them.”

It sounds like a dream for now. And if Brienne makes sure no one else tries to kill them, you  _can_  walk two damned miles, damn it.

“All right,” you agree. The other person with Brienne, a young man - can’t be older than sixteen

( _oh how you wish you were sixteen again_ )

offers Sansa his arm. Sansa takes it. You just follow, trying not to shake too much, until suddenly something warm is on your shoulders. You realize it’s a blanket.

“What -” you say, and you have to look up at your right. Very much up. Gods, Brienne is so tall you almost have to strain your neck to meet her eyes.

“You look like you needed it,” she says, sounding - almost worried? “Come on. It’s not that long.”

You walk.

–

The tower’s upper floor is empty. The moment you walk inside the room you start shivering harder - it’s not as cold, now, but the difference is so stark you can’t stop it. You’d sit on the bed, but there’s just one of them and on some level you know that you’d stain the sheets beyond belief. The boy - you think his name was Pod, he said it at some point - comes up next to you.

“There’s a chair over there,” he says, nodding towards the left. “Ser - well, no, lady Brienne, she’s gone to find some food and clothes. She said she would have tried to get at least one bath sent up so that it wouldn’t draw too much suspicion - anyway, just, you can sit. You look like you’re about to fall on your feet.”

“Thank you,” you say. “M’lord.”

“… I’m _definitely_  not one,” he answers, sounding - maybe uncomfortable? “I’ll - uh, I’ll go guard the door. Just - sit, all right?”

He leaves in a hurry and you clutch at the blanket and sit down. It’s better. It’s a lot better, you think. Except that _what happens now_ , that’s something you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?

You hear soft steps coming towards you and you’re about to stand again but then Sansa’s cold hand is on your shoulder, pushing down.

“No, you don’t need to do it,” she says, sounding - almost pained. Then she kneels down on the ground - her dress is completely ruined, you notice.

“My lady,” you say.

“ _Theon_.” 

You can’t help the flinch, but you figure it’s no use bothering to hide it. _Theon._. You _wish_  you could just - not flinch.

“Can I ask you why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you - did you help me. I mean -”

“Why, when I didn’t before?” You try to look at her and she gives you a firm nod. Her hands are on her thighs. For some reason that makes you feel inordinately happy - you’re not sure that you could deal with it if she put them on your shoulders again. Not when the last time it happened -

( _If I could do to you what Ramsay did to you right here, right now, I would_ )

better that she doesn’t.

“What she told they were going to do to you,” you say, then you take a breath. “What do you think they did to _me_ , before? Maybe not using me as a target, but he surely _took what wasn’t useful_ according to - to him. And she helped. Everything I could think of was that - that I owed it to Robb to try and do something about it. And I deserved it but you didn’t.”

There’s a lot else that you could say about it. You could tell her that hearing Myranda speak so casually when she was the last person who touched you

( _and you didn’t want a second of it and she went on anyway, her and that friend of hers they hunted later_ )

 _before_  - before _that_ , was so revolting that you couldn’t just stand her and let her keep on fucking talking, but you won’t. For some reason you’re completely exhausted and you don’t think that it’s a good idea. Never mind that maybe you don’t want to share in the first place.

And then -

Her hand reaches forward and hovers over your right - the one without two fingers. You’re wearing gloves, but the empty space is painfully visible.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“My -”

“No,” she cuts. “Just let me say it. I’ve thought a lot while we were coming here. I realized that since my father died - I felt compassion for the people who killed him. I felt compassion for - for many who maybe wouldn’t have deserved it.” She stops, swallows openly. “Somehow you were the only one I never really gave a chance in that sense. And it seems like you were the only one who did help me, after all.”

“Lady Brienne -”

“I had _refused_  her help before. To trust - to trust Lord Baelish. And - that got me married to _him_ , didn’t it? Regardless, I was wrong. You didn’t deserve most of what I had to tell you.”

“You thought I killed your brothers -”

“And Lord Baelish had a hand in my father’s death and in my aunt’s death. I still trusted him, didn’t i? _Theon_. I’m sorry. And thank you.”

All of a sudden, it doesn’t feel like something you should argue. She - well, you couldn’t argue with that reasoning. She sounds sincere. Her hand is still hovering uncertainly above yours. And gods be good -

Maybe, not so deep down, the truth is that you’re sick of everything and more than that, you’re sick of being fucking _Reek_ , and maybe that’s what made you decide that you were done for good.

“You’re - you’re welcome,” you say, trying to not mind that your eyelids are burning.

When you swallow and reach upwards and let your palm touch hers, and when her fingers wrap around yours again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Also,” Sansa says a moment later, “for what it’s worth - I would like to think that if my brother could see us, he wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Maybe _that_  is what finally makes the first couple of tears run across your cheeks. “I - I don’t think he’d be, no,” you agree, and if you think about it, you know it’s not unlikely.

Sansa doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t move her hand away.

Neither do you.

 

End.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Don't do so well alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874936) by [lordhellebore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore)




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